Hallucinogen
by Vamps-with-Wings
Summary: An innocent afternoon nap turns into the worst mistake Max has ever made. From the moment she awakens, everything is out of whack. Since when is the grass not green? Why does Fang have...fangs? Hallucinating is never fun for the person experiencing it, and Max is no exception. Who's to blame? ONESHOT. FAX. Let's say, post-MAX-ish time frame.


**Author's Note: I went back through some of my other oneshots, reading the reviews, and I got pretty sentimental and teary over them. Since I've pretty much resolved to 'retire' from writing fanfiction, this is likely to be the last you'll see of me in the Maximum Ride fandom. I knew I had to write at least _one _more oneshot, though.**

**Think of it as somewhat of a farewell story.**

**Hallucinogen**

A cool wind rustled through the canopy of trees above, stirring clusters of shiny green leaves. One detached from its branch, floating languidly in a downward spiral. It landed on the bridge of my nose, and I blinked slowly as it slid over onto my jaw. I shifted, eyes heavy lidded and ridden with sleep. My movements caused the hammock to sway gently.

Yawning, I flicked a glance to my surroundings, brushing the leaf onto the grass below. The backyard was quiet. Too quiet- but at the time nothing appeared out of the ordinary. I returned to my previous position, stretching my legs to their full length. The soft cotton of the fabric that supported my body scratched against my bare skin, and I was quickly lulled to a slumber once more.

My thoughts grew clouded and lucid. Just before I slipped fully into my subconscious, the vaguest hint of a prick in the crease of my left elbow registered in my mind. Normally, that would have been enough to jolt me into a fighting stance.

Instead, I took a nap.

When I woke up a scant hour later, something had undeniably changed. It was clearly mid-afternoon. The light of day had faded, and shadows were elongated across the ground. All these things were relatively common, except for one small detail.

The grass was purple.

I crunched into a sitting position, knifing up too suddenly for the unstable surface beneath me. The hammock rocked, tipping dangerously to the side. I scrambled to maintain my balance, but was pitched headfirst onto the hard, unforgiving ground regardless.

"[insert incredibly violent string of curse words that would warrant your mouth be filled with soap for three days straight here]"

I squinted, then squeezed my eyes shut tight. Slowly, my chest heaved in and out. My hands constricted around the blades of grass. They crunched under my grip, shattering like shards of glass. When I finally managed to open my eyes to slits, the ground was still covered with a moss of bright lavender.

"This smells like the work of Iggy and Gazzy," I muttered to myself, using my palms as leverage to haul myself to my knees. "Bitter, with the faint tinge of the Gasman's noxious fumes."

How they had managed to turn the backyard purple and brittle, I hadn't the slightest fathom of an idea. But I would find out. And it would _not_ be pretty. Promise.

I gritted my teeth, ignoring the splintering sound of the grass as it dissolved into fragments beneath the soles of my sneakers. The door loomed ahead, handle chilled to ice. I shoved it open, a scowl scrawled plainly on my face. As I stepped over the threshold, a fizzle of bright white light popped across my vision. I staggered back a step, righting myself with my back pressed against the wall.

A numbing pulse of music thundered so loud it hummed throughout my entire skeleton, beating with every drop of the bass. The entire lower floor of the house had been dimmed to blackness, interrupted only by a cacophony of strobing, multicolored fluorescent light. They flashed blindingly, slicing into the gloom.

"_What the hell is going on here_!?" I shouted, though no one appeared to be lingering in the small foyer. I rubbed my temple, wincing as the nonsensical splurge of music continued to chatter my teeth.

When I finally located Iggy and Gazzy . . . _I was going to __**kill **__them. _Slowly. Very slowly. And extremely painfully. They were going to experience torture unlike anything their miniscule brains had ever, and could feasibly ever, grasp.

With my fingers splayed against the wall, I strode purposefully forward, edging around whatever mound of obstacles emerged within my path. I was just considering the very likely possibility of my wringing those two freakishly conniving birdkid's necks, when I rounded a corner into the living room. Immediately, I ground to a halt.

There was a disco ball in place of the original fixture, casting gems of light onto the carpeted floor and walls. A massive tangle of bodies writhed ghoulishly beneath it. The oppressive amount of people heated the room to a boil, and a trickle of sweat gathered at the nape of my collar.

For a moment, all I could do was stare in stunned silence. But I was Maximum Ride, and my attention quickly synapsed into focus. Straining to see, I searched for a familiar face. One belonging to, oh- I dunno, a _member of my freaking flock_.

My gaze was drawn to the window. Directly beneath it, someone had rearranged the furniture so that the couch was shoved against the wall. A dark figure was seated on it, surrounded by a group of giggling girls.

"_Fang_," I hissed, a peculiarly acidic taste swelling across my tongue.

In that second, a hazy component of the picture before me cleared. The entire room was _full _of girls. _All girls_. That in itself was reason enough for me to _castrate _Fang (who, need I remind you, was _kind of_ my boyfriend now). But the tsunami level of estrogen in the room wasn't the worst part.

No. All the lovely females were [insert yet another lengthy, crude string of swear words that would literally make your mother slap you straight in the larynx here] _gingers_. **All of them**.

They shimmied to the thudding beat of the song, twirling and giving me a total sense of I'm-going-to-projectile-vomit-and-gouge-my-eyes-out-all-at-the-same-time. You know that feeling. It happens to the best of us.

"Hey Max."

Somehow, Fang's voice reached my ears over the deafening roar of the music. I glanced sharply over, meeting his dark, indifferent gaze. His tone was casual, and he gazed at me as if we were carrying a normal conversation.

"What are you _doing_!?" I demanded, stalking closer. I could feel my expression shift to flinty stone.

The Lissa look-alikes around him twittered away as they had before, purring like impaired cats. One stroked the length of his bronzed arm, while another twirled a lock of his black hair around her pale finger. They all wore sickeningly short red dresses, made of crimson chiffon and bloody silk. Um, excuse me? Nudge was the girly one, but I think I knew a major fashion faux pas when I saw it, and redheads wearing red was definitely one of them. Sorry not sorry.

"What are you talking about?" Fang asked, raising an eyebrow. The emotion in his eyes was clear, as blank as usual. He seemed impervious to his admirers, much to my further disdain.

I blinked, swiping a strand of dirty blonde hair from my forehead. "Is this supposed to be some kind of joke? Am I being punked? Because if Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out of a potted plant, we can get it over with, because I'm thoroughly unamused."

Fang smirked, lips curling up enough to expose his teeth. The length of his incisors had grown considerably. Fang . . . had fangs. Fangs. Fang.

[insert what will most likely be a minor installment in a long line of swear words if this day keeps heading in the same direction it currently is here]

Horrified, I spun on my heel, nearly tripping over my own feet as I stumbled hurriedly from the room. I could hear Fang shouting after me, but I continued at the same pace, traveling the remaining distance of the hall. To the right, a shadowed doorway took shape. I collapsed into it, slamming the door behind me. My fingers shook as I locked it, before fumbling for the light switch.

Golden illumination flooded the bathroom. I shuddered, gulping air. The music had ceased the instant I closed myself in the tiny room, and a blissful silence echoed all around me. Legs quivering uncontrollably, I slid to the cold porcelain tile, resting my head on the wood at my back.

"Max! Max, are you in there?"

I started, breath clumping in my throat. Fang's low, rough voice bled through the door. When I didn't respond, he began pounding on its surface, shaking the entire frame.

"Max, goddamit, answer me! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

I bit down hard on my lip. Fingers had appeared atop the curve of the bathtub, and were inching slowly over the side. They were unnaturally gray, and leaked an oozing black ichor that splattered the white floor, morphing to piles of ashes where they landed.

Let it be stated for the record that I don't frighten easily. Yeah, I'm a little (_a_ _lot_) paranoid, but that's different than getting truly _spooked_. I didn't believe in a bunch of crappy ghost stories. Stuff like that only happened in horror movies.

Except in this case. When it was actually happening. Here. In my bathroom. **Right now**_**.**_

(I might have peed a little . . . but just a little)

The silence was ruptured by an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream. It took me what most would consider too long to realize that _I _was the one mustering up such a banshee-like sound. When I did, I choked back my cries, vaulting to a stand. I whirled, clumsily unlocking the door. Pins and needles prickled from my scalp to the tips of my toes. Instinct reprimanded me for exposing my back, but I _needed_ to escape. Fast. If that meant throwing my internal caution to the wind, than so be it.

"Max, what-" Fang began, as I leaped into the crowded corridor.

The rest of the flock was milling about, rubbing elbows as they strained to come closer. Concern was wittled in all of their gazes. Fang's calloused hand wrapped around my elbow, steadying me. His stare was hooded, cracked wide enough so that only I was able to see through his guard.

"Are you alright?" Nudge questioned, staring with large brown eyes at my panicked form. I couldn't imagine what I appeared to them as, erratic and disheveled as I felt. She and Angel shared a worried look.

"I . . . I don't . . . I don't think so," I murmured, swaying.

Iggy leaned forward, sightless but still managing to sense that I was flailing. His cloudy blue eyes were melded with something other than anxiety. Something more akin to . . . guilt.

"She can't even stand on her own," Gazzy remarked, a troubled air teasing the crease of his brow.

Fang's grip tightened around my arm, his other hand resting on my waist. I leaned into his chest, brain swirling. My vision was spinning like a top, fractured and defected. Was Angel supposed to have two heads? . . . And since when did Iggy grow a third arm?

"I feel . . . dizzy," I managed to say breathlessly.

Then my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I slumped- unconscious.

…

Groaning, I burrowed deeper into my mattress, tugging the covers beneath my chin. Before I even opened my eyes I knew my internal clock was off the mark. The brightness behind my lids was just that- too bright.

"Good afternoon, sunshine."

I stirred, grumbling some more. Cracking a single eye open, I locked gazes with Fang. He was seated at my side, legs propped on the edge of my bed. A tumble of dark hair hung over his obsidian irises, and I reached over to cast it aside unconsciously.

"Did I get drunk or something?" I wondered aloud, indicating the hungover-esqe headache pounding like a hammer to an anvil just above my right eyebrow.

He smirked, shaking his head. "Not quite."

"Then what the hell happened?" My patience was thinning considerably. Flashes of the previous days shenanigans were zipping through the forefront of my thoughts. I would have assumed I had dreamnt it all, had Fang not been waiting for me to awaken.

But it had happened.

"Well . . . Iggy . . ." he trailed off, an amused glint in his eyes. He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. His proximity was enough to derail the (delux) steam engine of my train of thought. From this close I could smell his delicious boy scent, and feel the warmth radiating from his body.

My heart was panging to the mantra: Fang Fang Fang. Kiss him Kiss him Kiss him.

But my head, the damn menace, was commanding otherwise.

"I'll kill him," I stated flatly. "What did he do to me?"

"I'm not really sure. He has an explanation." Fang shrugged.

I rolled my eyes, propping myself into a sitting position. "I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from strangling him mid-sentence; definitely not long enough to hear what he has to say in means of defense."

"From what I gathered, you were hallucinating. Big time."

An image of Fang with teeth sharp enough to make a vampire swoon floated to the surface of my mind.

"Yeah, I got that impression," I muttered through gritted teeth. My spare hand clamped into a hard fist. Iggy was going to pay. He was going to pay so much and for so long that he'd _beg _for death to take him away.

Hello, eternal slave. I am your master. Fear and obey me.

Fang chuckled, sensing the direction in which my thoughts had wandered. I smiled despite myself, tightening my hold on his palm. He leaned forward, brushing a kiss against my forehead, then my nose, and finally my lips. His touch was gentle, and I tugged at the hem of his black t-shirt, pressing my mouth firmly to his.

Hallucinogen or not, I was pretty sure I had a lifelong servant already . . . Fang just didn't know it yet.

**Author's Note: So . . . yeah. I'm probably going to cry when I finally go to upload this. I know, I'm a big baby. But this is a big deal for me. FF has been my outlet for writing since I was twelve. I'm going to be sixteen in October. I'd be nowhere without it. Honestly.**

**It feels like a part of my _life _is over. Granted, that's majorly dramatic and probably a bit overrated, but it's true nonetheless.**

**For what may very well be the last time (and I'm seriously begging here): Review?**


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